


a bundle of letters

by Kaesa



Series: Kaesa's Whumptober 2019 fics [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley's Century-Long Nap (Good Omens), Love Letters, M/M, Post-Canon, Whumptober 2019, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 01:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21205802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaesa/pseuds/Kaesa
Summary: After the Apocalypse doesn't happen, Crowley finds a stash of letters Aziraphale wrote to him after their fight over holy water.





	a bundle of letters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Whumptober 2019, for the prompt "tear-stained."

Crowley found the letters later, after the apocalypse. They were stashed behind a phalanx of Wilde first editions, a little bundle of yellowed paper filled with tidy (if somewhat archaic even for the time it had been written) handwriting. Aziraphale had been talking about wanting to reread _The Picture of Dorian Gray _and Crowley had thought maybe he'd like it if he made cocoa and pulled out his favorite edition for him before he came back from the bakery.

But this was more interesting than cocoa, and anyway, who knew how long Aziraphale would take at the bakery. Crowley put _Dorian Gray _back on the shelf and opened the first letter.

_ _

_3 August 1832_

_C,_

_I fear I may have spoken too hastily at our last meeting. Might we have supper next week to discuss safer alternatives to your proposal?_

_-A_

The letter ended there, but there was a lot more to the bundle. Crowley felt a bit guilty about reading them, but they had been addressed to him, after all, and the first few had been sent and returned. He settled in behind the counter of the bookshop to read the rest.

_ _

_5 September 1832_

_C,_

_I have clearly upset you; I wish to make amends. Please let me know when next we might meet._

_-A_

_8 December 1832_

_C,_

_You are being ridiculous. Reply to me at once!_

_-A_

_12 February 1832_

_My dear C,_

_It is a new year and I have not heard from you. I am very sorry to have upset you so, but I entreat you to please, please let me know you are all right._

_-A_

Crowley's guilt stopped being about reading letters addressed to himself and became more about the very long nap he'd taken after that argument about the holy water. Although really, Crowley didn't understand what Aziraphale had been worried about; it wasn't like Crowley couldn't take care of himself. Mostly.

_ _

_17 June 1833_

_Crowley,_

_We need not meet if you prefer not to, but please give me some sign that you have not found another source and taken matters into your own hands. You are very _

The letter ended there. It wasn't signed, and hadn't been sent. "Very what? What am I?" Crowley asked the letter. What had Aziraphale been so worried about?

The next one wasn't dated. It wasn't even a letter. It just said _Crowley, I miss you and I'm sorry and I don't know where you are but I hope you are somewhere._

"Oh angel, you are a dramatic one," he muttered. Certainly, he had vanished for decades, but he was only sleeping.

The next one wasn't a letter either, and the handwriting was absolutely awful. There were little blotchy bits all over it.

_Crowley where are you, I have looked all over London and plenty of other places beside and _[here there was a blotch] _nowhere. Please come back to me, I understand it must be difficult working for Hell but Earth is so full of beautiful things and you mustn't forget that even though et_[a blotch]_nation awaits there is no reason not to enjoy what you can have now and perhaps someday _[here there were a lot of furious scribbles, as if even in his cups Aziraphale had found his rambling ridiculous] _things might be better. I did not mean to upset you I only wished to keep you from doing something unwise and now it seems you have done it all on your own and Crowley I don't think I can _[a large blotch] _and if you have destroyed yourself I will never forgive myself and you won't speak to me and I can't find you and I don't know what to do._

"Oh, Aziraphale," said Crowley, now feeling thoroughly guilty. "Well. I wouldn't. I should tell him. But then I'd have to tell him I read these, and -- should I tell him?" He looked sharply at the devil's ivy trailing over the counter. Aziraphale had thoroughly spoiled it, of course. He wasn't to be trusted with plants. "Don't give me that look, I wasn't asking _you,_" he told it.

There was silence for a moment.

"Yeah, I should," he sighed, and turned back to the bundle to continue reading. There was still the occasional letter, buttoned-up and formal and requesting that Crowley please simply provide proof of his continued existence, but most of them were along the lines of _Dear Crowley, today I saw a lovely exhibition of paintings and they made me think of you_ or_ Crowley, I wish you had been with me today because the vile Mr. Webb at my club said something absurd, and your response would have been worth seeing. _They were mostly cheerful, and Crowley smiled at how Aziraphale had apparently decided to keep telling Crowley about his adventures even though Crowley had been, he had to admit, engaged in a seriously overblown sulk. But some were more melancholy; one was simply_Crowley, I miss you very much today, and feel a fool for doing so._

And now Crowley missed him, even though he was just down at the bakery and taking his time about it.

When the shop door rang, he was still reading, and instinctively tried to gather up the little bundle and hide it before remembering he'd planned to tell Aziraphale about finding the letters anyway. Aziraphale hadn't even noticed, he was still checking that the door was locked behind him, to be sure no customers might slip in. "I got those crumbly ones you like so much," he said, "but you'd better not -- oh. Crowley, what's all this?" he asked, hurrying over to the counter. He put the bakery bags down and peered at the letters.

"Ah. I found them behind some books," said Crowley. "I thought -- well. They had my name on them, and... angel. Did you really think I was going to kill myself with holy water?" And immediately he realized he must've said the wrong thing, because there were tears in Aziraphale's eyes, and he used a miracle to walk _through _the counter so he could get to Aziraphale faster and draw him into a hug. "Aziraphale, I was scared of Hell, that's all," he said, trying to be soothing.

"You weren't _anywhere _and I was so frightened and I thought -- I mean -- you always seemed so -- so --"

"I was just off having a stress nap," said Crowley.

"But I didn't know that!" said Aziraphale.

"No, no, of course you wouldn't have known," said Crowley. Aziraphale was clinging to him now, and Crowley ran a hand through his hair. "I just want you to know, I wouldn't have done that. And if I had it would've been on me and it would've been on Hell, but it certainly wouldn't have been on you. But I wouldn't. Can't get rid of me that easily, angel."

"Don't want to get rid of you at all," said Aziraphale, sounding slightly muffled because he was speaking directly into Crowley's shoulder.

"Well, you're probably going to have to let go of me eventually if you want to have your pastries," said Crowley, and reluctantly, Aziraphale pulled away from him. "You kept writing to me afterward," said Crowley, softly, as he dabbed tears out of his eyes.

"I missed you," said Aziraphale. "I thought... I thought if I'd been wrong, I'd want to keep track of all the things I wanted to tell you. And then I __was __wrong, and there you were in that church, and, and I realized everything I'd written made it all too obvious how I felt, so I never did."

Crowley reached out to cup his cheek. "Wasn't it all too obvious how I felt, by then?"

Aziraphale smiled wryly. "Apparently not to me."

"Glad we got that one worked out, then," Crowley said, and he leaned forward to kiss Aziraphale softly. It was a bit salty, but he didn't mind.


End file.
